


Surprise

by somanyhands



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Gen, John being a bit dim, Mycroft being a bit interfering, Sherlock being a bit dim, but he means well, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you know what day it is tomorrow, Sherlock?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Do you know what day it is tomorrow, Sherlock?"

Sherlock stopped typing, his fingers frozen over the keys and his forehead crinkled in a contemplative frown. He thought a moment. It hadn't long been the weekend, had it? Not yesterday though. The day before maybe?

"Tuesday?" he offered, not sounding at all like he believed it himself. He glanced around at John for some sort of confirmation. 

John smiled and let out a slight chuckle. "Well, actually it's Thursday, but that's not quite what I meant, Sherlock."

The detective's frown deepened a little. How did it get to be Thursday already? His confusion was interrupted again when John spoke.

"What I actually meant was do you know what date tomorrow is?"

Oh, OK then. Sherlock lowered his hands from the laptop and dropped them to his sides. This one he could answer. In the corner of the screen, the computer's clock told him it was the 17th. He looked across to John with an 'I know this' grin.

"It's the 18th tomorrow, John." he replied with the glee of a schoolchild getting a pop quiz question right. 

"Of?" John's returning question was unexpected.

Why did he even want to know? Sherlock didn't understand. John himself was reading the newspaper. Surely the date is on the front page?

"John, really. Where is this line of questioning going? I'm sure there are easier ways to find out the date than to ask me." Sherlock returned to his typing, his frown levelling off only slightly as he did so.

John sighed. Right then. He should have known. It was ridiculous to think that Sherlock would have remembered anyway. He returned to his paper, holding it only a little higher to hide the intense disappointment in his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Don't forget what day it is tomorrow, brother. - MH_
> 
> What the...? Has everybody gone mad?

When the incessant buzzing of his mobile phone didn't stop, Sherlock groaned. He flopped his arm backwards so it was hanging off the sofa and brushing against the floor.

"John?" he shouted, "John, pass my phone!"

He frowned when John didn't answer or appear with his phone.

"Bugger." he cursed, remembering that John was at work until 6. He lazily rolled his head round to see if he could locate where exactly his phone was. It vibrated again against a table somewhere and the ringtone continued for another half-ring before cutting off.

Sherlock let out a long sigh and rolled his torso to face the same direction as his head. He spotted his phone precariously hanging halfway off the desk, next to his laptop. He followed his torso with his legs and found himself rolling onto the carpet. Pushing himself to his knees, he sighed again and stood.

_One missed call - Mycroft Holmes_

_One new text message_

Sherlock opened it up, his curiosity peaked.

_Don't forget what day it is tomorrow, brother. - MH_

What the...? Has everybody gone mad? 

Sherlock cursed his brother for making him move and looked around him, deciding what to do now he was up. He glanced towards the kitchen, noticing the half-finished experiment into the durability of sheepskin. Crinkling his nose up, he dismissed that. He slid his phone into his pocket and flung himself down in his armchair.

As he stared at the empty space that John usually occupied, the newspaper caught his eye. Remembering this morning's conversation, he picked it up, turning it back to the front page.

_Thursday 17th January_

Sherlock shrugged and took back out his phone.


	3. Chapter 3

John slumped down into his office chair with a long sigh. He'd had nothing but a stream of runny noses and neurotic mothers this morning and had only managed to free up a small window of time to fit in his lunch now. At 2.30pm.

He rolled his eyes and wondered what his detective was doing. He hoped that Sherlock would make some effort to finish that damn sheepskin experiment. The kitchen was beginning to smell stranger. Well, stranger than usual for 221B.

His phone began to trill with the irritating ringtone that Sherlock had programmed into it. If John had the faintest idea how, he'd have changed it to something less... murder-inducing. In the absence of such knowledge, however, he was stuck listening to the repeated intro bars of "Hit me baby one more time". He supposed it at least made him answer the phone promptly. No doubt that was Sherlock's intention.

He pulled the phone from his top desk drawer and peered at the screen.

_Mycroft Holmes_

John rolled his eyes. Great. Just what he needed. He slid the phone open with a glare, as if Mycroft would see it.

"John Watson." he answered, hoping Mycroft would keep it short so he could get back to his limp ham sandwich. Even that was preferable to a conversation with the elder Holmes.

"Good afternoon, Doctor Watson," Mycroft began, his voice irritatingly polite, "I trust you are enjoying your late lunch."

John opened his mouth to ask how Mycroft knew before thinking better of it. It didn't stop him feeling irked that the man knew everything. Literally everything.

"What can I do for you, Mycroft?" he asked tersely and perhaps, a little more rudely than he intended. The tone wasn't lost on Mycroft, of course, and John heard the man tut at the other end of the line.

"Really, Doctor." he didn't follow it up with a particular complaint however. "I merely called you to let you know that I tried to call my brother to..." he paused a moment, and, if it were possible, John could hear him frown, "to remind him of the date. He didn't answer. I sent a message instead. I trust that I didn't cross any unspoken boundaries?"

The question didn't really sound like a question, and John was momentarily unsure whether Mycroft was actually expecting an answer.

"Right. OK. Well, thank you. No, that's fine." he muttered, slightly confused about his flatmate's brother's intentions.

"Good. Good." Mycroft responded with a soft chuckle, and a soft click indicated that he had ended the call.

John turned back to his sandwich. These Holmes brothers were a baffling breed.


	4. Chapter 4

John pushed the key into the lock at Baker Street with a yawn. It was 8pm and he was getting home 2 hours later than he had intended.  
During that time, he'd had three missed calls and 6 messages - all from Sherlock. He'd eventually replied to the final text message after his last patient had left.

_Home in twenty. Order in - JW_

He hadn't received a reply so as John climbed the stairs to 221B, he had no idea what would be waiting for him. A cracky detective. That much he did know.

John pushed open the lounge door and slid off his jacket, hanging it on the hook as he toed off his shoes.

"Tea?" he asked the overgrown foetal shape on the sofa. It mumbled a reply that seemed neither a yes or a no. John rolled his eyes and headed into the kitchen anyway.

"You didn't finish this experiment today then." he said, more making an observation than asking as question as he wrinkled his nose at the smell. "Did you order in?"

The curled form replied with a long sigh.

"Fine, fine." John muttered, his voice low and trying to disguise the level of irritation he actually felt. He walked through to the living room and grabbed his phone, dialling up the local Thai restaurant and placing an order. He didn't bother asking Sherlock what he wanted. The detective - _the child_ , John thought - was clearly in one of those moods, and John knew better.

"Right," John said, more to the flat than to his partner, "I'll just go shower while I wait for this to arrive then."

By the time he had come back down from the bathroom 15 minutes later, Sherlock had disappeared from the sofa and shut himself away in the bedroom.

John ate alone in the kitchen, his eyes occasionally darting to the bedroom door. Sherlock had forgotten then. John supposed that he shouldn't actually be surprised.  
But he'd thought...well, it doesn't matter what he thought. He finished his meal and watched TV from the armchair where he eventually fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go then.
> 
> Final chapter :-)

John woke stiff and aching, with the early morning sunlight shining a strip of bright light in his eyes where the curtains didn't close properly.  
He squinted and frowned, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen up his limbs.

He very quickly became aware of sounds coming from behind him in the kitchen. Sherlock was up then. John briefly considered pretending to be still sleeping in order to avoid his moody flatmate but decided against it when his bladder made it clear that he would have to move soon anyway.

He stretched his arms and flexed his legs before standing and heading upstairs to relieve himself.

As he came back down, he hesitated outside the living room door, collecting himself and his thoughts before entering. He'd been with Sherlock now for long enough to know. He shook his head at himself for expecting this time to be any different.

He'd just go in and make breakfast for them both, then they could go about their day as normal. John slowly pushed open the door, but nothing could have prepared him for what was on the other side.

"What the...?" John stood aghast in the doorway, his clothing from the previous day looking as wrinkled as his face which screwed up in obvious confusion.

"I'm not very good at this sort of thing, John." Sherlock said, his face a picture of vulnerable uncertainty. 

John studied the scene before him. The small desk had been cleared, and on it, sat a light breakfast of tea and toast. He then looked at Sherlock. This man who John had known for many years and who he thought could no longer surprise him.

The detective knelt on the floor in front of the table, clearly steeling himself to say more, so John stood silently and let him.

"I know that you thought I had forgotten, John. I hadn't. I hadn't forgotten at all. Today is the 18th of January and it is ten years to the day since we became lovers. It's our anniversary."

As he raised one knee, he produced from behind his back, a small box. He finally risked raising his head and looked at John - _his_ John - directly in the eyes.

"I think it's been long enough, don't you?" he continued, flicking open the box and holding it up towards John.

"John Watson, will you marry me?"


End file.
